Pariah
by Shmeeko
Summary: The plan was simple. Find the right people, consume them and tear into their secrets - gather information about who he was hunting. But of course, this plan was not without faults. Where in the world was he supposed to start? -Gore! :D-
1. Tickles

He liked the birds. The flaps of their wings was...comforting. It was naught more than a steady, slow beat to his hyperactive senses. Every feather shifting, every rush of air, every scent: it was all so clear to him. It was as if the small birds were trapped in a slow-moving section of time, unable to escape and only amusing the boy with their futile attempts to escape the small room so slowly. He was watching them with interest, aware that he too was being watched. But not by the birds.

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. His eyes remained fixed on the small winged creatures. There were two, both of them trying to escape the same, futile way. As he walked towards them, their panic became so evident he could smell it. Nevermind the fact that they had started screeching madly, their wings pumping harder as they now clawed at each other in a frenzy. The bigger one would seem to have the advantage, pinning to smaller's wing in his talons and clumsily dragging it about in the air.

The boy stifled a giggle.

_Slam_. The smaller pidgeon hit the wall.

_Slam._ Again, flesh met white steel.

But just as he expected to hear a third, screeches and muffled thumps brought his attention to the fact that the situation was changing. The smaller bird had pecked out the larger's eyes and now tore at it's throat, it's shoulders, it's skull. There was a puff of feathers as the stuggling masses hit the ground. Still, the child approached, his expression one of innocent curiosity as he stooped down to carefully cradle the survivor in his hands. The small pidgeon had won. But not without a price.

It bled excessively, it's wing torn akwardly out of it's joint and hanging loosely by several strands of muscle. There was a wound that let the precious crimson fluid leak from it's skull. The boy's gaze was a sympathetic one as he lightly brushed the head of the bird, collected the blood on his hand.

A little unnerved by the sudden alien presence on his hands and curious as to what it meant, he stared at his reddened palm with a fascinated intensity. His tongue darted out from his mouth and licked the mess away. Infatuated with this new, yet familiar taste, this forgotten texture, the boy returned his deep brown gaze to the bleeding creature in his hand. His grip moved to the pidgeon's throat.

Tightly he squeezed, ever observant as the creature squirmed and kicked at open air, desperately flapping it's good wing and giving choked cries of pain. It's screeched got higher and higher pitched, until they died out and nothing more than desperate rasps remained. After the sudden sound of blades sinking into flesh, there was silence.

Something warm dripped onto his hand, slowly leaking down his arm. He lifted the limb to inspect it. There it was again! The liquid! It was red and warm.

It sort of tickled.

He withdrew the five biological knives from the bird's flesh and let it clatter to the floor like a discarded toy. The long, thin blades that now replaced his fingers were like a whole new infatuation to him. He busied himself with the blood, wiping it over the floors and walls, on his clothes and face. He let out a childishly amused laugh, then went flying into the wall opposite him without warning, beating his bloody hand against it.

"Jesus christ!" The man jumped back from the window, his heart now racing much faster than it had been moments ago. Watching that...that _thing_ 'play' with his birds had been terrifying enough. Now it screamed like a banshee, dark eyes wide and staring forwards with such intensity, it was as if he could see the scientist who observed him behind the wall.

"Whoa there, doc, calm your horomones." A rough hand grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back down into his chair as he tried to slow his rapidly beating heart.

"My horomones are perfectly calm!" The doctor explain shrilly, trying to block out the shrieks of the boy no more than two feet away from him. "You can't look at _that_ and not get a little..." There was hesitance. "...Nervous."

"Sure I can!" The uniformed soldier stepped forward and smashed the barrel of his gun up against the wall, right at the boy's face. It did nothing more than give a solid 'thump' as it met it's target. The child's mouth snapped shut and he scrambled backwards. He scurried into the far corner, picking up the bleeding pidgeon on his way and turning his back to the wall. The squirts of blood told the two men he was obviously 'playing' some more. "You just have to show this freak who's boss."

"Yes well, I'm not nearly as barbaric as you."

"Maybe you should be." The larger man let out a chuckle and moved back to stand at his post by the door as the frail-looking other buried himself in the texts on his screen. The boy was silent, nothing by the occaisonal spray of blood indicating he was doing anything at all. Once, the thin man glanced at the bloody room and grimaced. He wasn't paid enough to do this.

Still, he forced himself to look over the endless pages of data. Every figure, every word and every letter had to be known inside-out. He was to write reports on the subject's behaviour each day, record activities, actions and habits. Rarely anything went wrong during this time, but there always had to be a soldier posted there. It was something to do with protocal and whatever. The thin man never had the nerve to bother with protocols. As long as the brute-men did their job, he would do his.

"Oi, four-eyes." The doctor sighed and lifted his gaze, flicking a nasty stare back at the man who'd just brought up a childhood nickname. He pushed his glasses up by nose, a habit he couldn't help when reminded of their presence on his face.

"What?!" He snapped, only to have the soldier redicrect his attention to the room with a wave of his hand.

"Is that normal?"

He turned back.

The boy stood in the center of the room, face smeared in blood. His clothes were no more spared, splatters going this way and that, a noticable stain on his collar. His dark eyes were fixed on the wall that seperated the two from him, narrowed meanacingly as his breathing obviously quickened. Plagued with caution and weak nerves, the doctor rose to his feet as if he were being stared down by a wolf.

"No..." He breathed, backing away until the solider's hand once again met his shoulder.

"Doesn't matter though." He barked, even though his tone failed in hiding his unease. "We're not allowed to leave our posts. Just get back to work."

"I think we should get someone in here with a sedative."

The boy was screaming now, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides in a rythmatic, violent manner, blood dripping from his knuckles. He would scream until breathless, swallow as much air as possible, then start all over again. The soldier was hesitant.

"He might just be mad I scared him off, is all." The large man waved a hand dismissively, before returning it to his rifle. He tried to hide how tightly he gripped the weapon, and how sweat had begun to gather at his forehead and neckline. The kid did make him nervous. But never would he admit that to some whimpy little geek in glasses. "_Just get back to work!_"

Jumping like a startled cat, the man scrambled back over to his computer, doing his best to ignore how the boy's screams had gotten louder. His eyes frantically scanned the data imputting itself on the screen.

"What the..."

"What the what?!" The soldier's unnerved condition became clear as he snapped back to the sudden outburst.

"The subject is showing increased levels of adrenaline, his breathing rate is so irregular and fast...anyone human would've passed out by now. He's always showing concentrated increases of blood in his hands, feet and torso." Like a professional at work, the man listed what he saw outloud. Though most of it only came through as mumbo-jumbo to the man who was paid to shoot.

"In english!" He snarled.

"I really think we should get a seda-" He froze, eyes wide in shock as he stared down at the screen.

"What?!" The man demanded. There was nothing but silence for a long while, the soldier's full attention was on the doctor. "What were you saying, four-eyes?!" Still, he received no answer. He stormed up to the man, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder and giving him a shake. The action sent the man's head toppling sideways, clinging to place by a single strand of flesh. "My bloody..." He turned his attention to the boy.

His hand was up, but everything from his forearm on was missing, his hand gone from sight and replaced with an odd looking dark mist. He pulled his arm back, a split second of shine giving the soldier a glance at an ultra-thin blade, so long and thin it had peirced the wall and completely severed the scientist's head while being near impossible to see.

In a blind panic, he began to shoot at the wall, only to have his bullets bounce pathetically off the wall. He turned to leave, only to feel a sharp, blinding pain dig into his lower back. Then slowly, he could feel the pain travelling upwards. He could _feel_ his spinal cord being slowly _sliced_ in two.

Several seconds later, the man's head split open and he clattered to the ground. The boy turned back to his pidgeon and tucked it under his arm, before making a quick motion with his free hand. That dark mist had returned, his hand dissapearing.

Part of the wall fell down out of a neat, cut-out shape. The boy moved through this small opening, only to have his hearing assaulted by the noise of a shrill, repetative alarm. He could hear faint footsteps and yelling.

"It's coming from containment zone 7!" He heard one saw as he moved towards the door, small smile adorning small features. "All hands report!"

_"Man the defenses!"_

_"Ready the turrets!"_

_"It's PARIAH!"_

_"PARIAH has escaped!"_

* * *

"There he goes, shoot him! Shoot him!" The night was illuminated by the rapid fire of bullets tearing through the still air. They chased a shadow around a corner, before the gunfire stopped and flashlights kicked on. A team of four stood isolated in an alley, silence behind them and awaiting them ahead. They had their orders. There was no turning back. So, lead by the top-ranking officer, the four crept into the alley. One of them let out a disgusted breath at the squish of infected material beneathe his boot.

"Come on out, Germ, don'tcha wanna infect me?" One of them called as the searchlights on their guns scanned every inch of the alley, quick to dart around corners and illuminate niches.

"Shh!" Someone hissed. "Do you hear that?!"

No one heard anything.

"He's definately still here. Split up. Gregors, Murke, keep going ahead. Wilson and I will take this alley. Yell if you spot him."

"It's not a him." A soldier growled, but who it was no one really cared to identify. They obediently split up into their pairs and proceeded slowly down their appointed allies.

"Bloody freak." Wilson snarled, tracing the rooftops with his flashlight. "It's because of abominations like him we're in this mess."

"Just shut up and do your job, private." The commanding officer made a point to scan the nooks and crannies of places between and behind dumpsters or piles of trash. He heard an odd noise come from his left, something like a gag or a choke, and flashed his light in that direction.

"Sir?" His light illuminated his fellow soldier Wilson.

"You hear that?"

"Yeah. I think it came from up there." He motioned up to the rooftops. The commander followed his solider's point. "But then again..." Blinding pain assaulted his gut, a tearing, ripping feeling that pushed through his flesh until it burst out his back. He couldn't cry out, blood slowly filling his throat made that impossible. "I could be wrong."

He felt himself being pulled in, a feeling of being ripped apart becaming evident as he was forced closer to his fellow soldier. He choked out once more before everything went dark.

"HELP!"

"What the fuck?" Gregors turned on his heel.

"Was that the sarge?" His partner asked.

"Sounded like it."

"You think they found it?"

"One way to find out!" They both sprinted back the way they came, taking a sharp turn and quickly moving to locate the source of the call. It didn't take long until their flashlight shone on the back of a dark-suited soldier, hunched forward and coughing in obvious pain.

"Sarge!" Murke darted to his captain's side, instantly concerned for his long time friend's health. "Sarge, what happened? Was it him?" The man's hand suddenly shot up and gripped the younger officer by the throat, lifting him off the ground as he stood slowly.

"Holy shit!" Gregors opened fire, the first click of his gun attracting the unwanted attention of the creature as it's head turned towards him. He didn't stop shooting until his round had emptied. When he did, he'd wished he'd stopped sooner.

Before him hung the bloody corpse of Timothy Murke, flesh torn apart by bullet wounds and head hanging lifelessly to one side. In the next three seconds, the corpse was thrown savagely aside and a black, whip-like thing shot forward, burying itself between the remaining soldier's collarbone.

"Z-Ze-" He barely had the time to blink before the thing pulled out and left him to clatter to the floor.

Tendrils crawled around the last man standing, obscuring him for only a moment before causing the soldier to vanish completely. Someone new stood in his place, dark attire blending with the now lightless alley. He let out a scoff, casting his gaze upwards at the open sky. No doubt someone would be here soon, but by the time they would arrive their target would be long gone.

With this thought of elusiveness in mind, the young man leapt high into the air, coming to a perfect landing on a roof ledge. He cast a semi-thoughftul gaze down to the pile of corpses below before shooting forward, aiming to string together a long line of buildings into one, multi-levelled pathway across the city.

_Dear Alex,_

A large gap over a two-laned street was covered with practiced ease. The streets were empty, only the occaisonal soldier littering it's walkways and corners. It was too dark to accurately identify him from his height, so he was not at all worried about being spotted.

_I have no doubt about what military sources are saying about you. You really are a hard man to find._

The hooded figure skidded to a halt, debating on which way would get him to the waterfront fastest, the higher route or the one closer to the ground. Each had it's advantages and disadvantages, mainly in the presence of helicopters. He really didn't want a fight to start unless he'd been the one to initiate it. Otherwise, he wanted to avoid most conflict. He chose the lower route.

_It's been a long time since I've sought you out. Usually it's you coming to me. However, in light of recent events I can understand why you wish to remain relatively below the radar. But I beleive this is in your best interests. Meet me at the morgue as soon as you can. It's about Dana, among other things._

He grabbed the edge of the roof and flipped himself over it, letting his feet come in contact with the wall and loosening his grip so that he slid down the roof at a controlled pace. He hit the floor in the shadows of the same building he'd decended, making a decent effort to keep his footfalls silent as he crept around the building. Sure enough, two marines had posted themselves outside the morgue enterance, talking and mumbling to each other about the current state of the city.

They lifted their heads as he approached. He lifted a hand and gave a little salute. The two stood at attention and returned the salute, letting the Blackwatch soldier walk right on by and into the morgue.

When the door had shut behind him and he was well down the hall, he let his form shift back to normal before pushing open a door whose green paint had been chipped with years of rough handling. A black plate was mounted just below a cross-wired window, with white writing describing head worker and location.

Dr. Bradley Ragland

Morgue

As he entered the metal office, a dark-skinned man lifted his gaze to him for only a moment, identifying him, then returning to his work. There was a mutated corpse of...something...under his scalpel, which seemed to be occupying most of his attention.

Alex Mercer stood silently for about a minute, before his impatience took over and he broke the concentrated silence.

"Well?" He demanded, tone sounding slightly more eager than he would've liked. Once again, he received a glance from the elder man, but not a word. Instead, he lifted his free and pointed with his thumb to the door behind him. Alex wasted no time in crossing the room and following the doctor's directions. The room he entered was not much different.

It, like the morgue, was also made up of metal walls. It had a desk in the corner of similar make, it's surface littered with two laptops and several papers and books of varying thicknesses. The walls were littered with several posters outlining human atonomy and subjects of the like. However, the being of most interest in that room was the young woman seated on an aged couch that had been pushed at an akward angle into a corner.

Her short brown hair was ruffled, obviously left ungroomed for quite a while. Her cheeks seemed stained red, eyes half-opened as she stared blankly at the floor. A thick wool blanket was draped over her bare shoulders. She'd been changed into something of a patient's outfit, likely to ensure she could be properly examined.

But her gaze did not lift at the man's enterance to the room, despite the way he stared in wonder and suspicion at her still form. He was hesitant for a while before taking a few steps towards her. At this, her eyes lifted to meet his.

"Dana?" Alex crouched down, that lightened stare following him as he came to eye-level with the fragile-looking girl. She just stared. When she said nothing in response to her name, he decided to try once more. "Dana?"

"You're not Alex." The man blinked in surprise.

"I-"

"You're not my brother."

"Dana, I-"

"You're just some _thing_ with his skin." Her words, though not entirely untrue, stung to hear all the same. He wasn't sure why it hurt either, it's not like she was just spitting hateful insults. She was more right than not. The man wisely chose to ignore this fact, leaving the subject untouched.

"Are you alright?" Alex asked with a sigh, standing once more as his initial fears of dementia had been calmed. It still took her several seconds to reply, her voice quiet and broken.

"Fine." She said, drawing that blanket tighter around her as a comfort, her head turning away. Dana said nothing more, obviously quite comfortable with letting an akward silence envelop the room. Uncomfortable with this situation, Alex chose to remove himself from the bitter presence and leave the girl to her thoughts.

"Let me know if you need anything." He said as he turned to walk away. He hesitated for only a moment, pausing long enough to say, "I'm sorry," before leaving.

"She's been awake for the past week." As Mercer stepped into the main room of the morgue, Ragland turned to face him. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and set the scalpel down on the table before folding his arms across his chest in a habitual manner. "She started asking questions. Why she couldn't leave, where you were and what had happened to her."

"Figures."

"I'm not so good with young women, Alexander, especially not ones with the potential to get so...loud and angry. I eventually told her everything I knew."

"Yeah."

"...I take it she didn't react well to seeing you."

"It doesn't matter." Alex waved a hand and shook his head, making a point to move further away from the office door. "What else do you have to tell me?"

"Well," the doctor turned back to the table and leant over his subject, clearly not at all bothered by the subject change. "It's about the infected..."

He had Alex's full attention.

"They're...evolving again. There is a new strain, one that's immune to Bloodtox and seems to be deducting from a host's mental capacity in order to increase their physical abilities. These new infected are stronger, faster and all themore viscious. So far, the only cases have been discovered in southern Manhatten, but there are military whispers that it's moving northeast."

"You mean it's making a come back?"

"Yes, the virus is taking a fast turn to develop better defenses. I think it'll take about a month for it to travel further up north, but that's not the worst of it."

"So, what is?" The hooded figure was a little irritated at the suspenseful pause.

"Well, those who are currently infected are immune. This new strain only spreads to people who are clean of the virus."

"So in other words, it's specifically targetting the survivors?"

"Indeed. And the rate with the current Infected is tricky. About 25% of them somehow take Bloodtox in as a cure to the virus, but one they're cured, they prove an easier target for the new strain to infest."

"Then Manhattan is doomed?"

"Well, that's what I thought."

"Until?"

"Until I overheard a military broadcast over classified stations. Apparently, PARIAH is loose in the city." The mention of the name brought a sting to the young man's head. He let a hand wonder to his forehead, pressing his palm into his skull in hopes to dull the pain. Memories flooded back into his mind, many voices whispering different things, all of them involving the name...

"_Pariah may be the final purpose of all life on earth."_

"_I want access to Pariah."_

"_34 years old and he barely ages. He's just some freak in a kid's body."_

"_Keep him isolated, beyond top-secret."_

"_All I know is that it would be very bad if Pariah and Zeus ever met face-to-face."_

By the time the memories and pain had faded, the doctor had resumed talking.

"It makes sense to beleive that like Elizabeth Greene, Pariah is able to create new strains of the virus and infect others, so it's natural to assume that he, like Greene, is the head of this new disease. I think if you can take him out, you might stop the spread of this virus, like you did with the first one."

"Makes sense."

"But can you do it?"

There was another pause after these words, one that seemed to show Alex's sudden curiosity as to why he was being doubted. He'd stopped the first one, hadn't he? He'd even taken on the mishappen Supreme Hunter and survived. It was because of him that Manhattan still stood. But instead of pointing all this out, he simply narrowed those icy eyes of his and growled out a straightforward question.

"What's got you doubting that I can?"

"The military, for one. They're still working on new ways to pin you down and capture you, even kill you if they can manage it. Bloodtox was just the first step on a tall ladder and remember how much that burned." Ragland paused before continuing, probably making sure his words sunk in. "Since the death of Specialist Cross, they're probably looking for new people to 'deal' with you. On top of that, from what I've heard, Pariah is nothing like Greene. He was borne of the virus, he had perfect, unchallenged control over it. I think it's safe to assume he'll make Greene look like a low-class amateur, especially seeing as you have not yet come to full terms with your abilities."

Each point of the doctor's was valid, but it was not like Alex Mercer to dwell on facts that might hinder him. Acknowledging their presence never hurt, but never would he actually let them distract. He'd come to learn to do everything in stride, face things as they came barelling towards him with whatever murderous intention they may have. Worrying about minor details would slow him down, something he couldn't afford.

"I'll manage." He said, ignoring the look of doubt he received from the doctor. He turned towards the door. "Thanks for looking after Dana. I'll come back to see her in a while, don't let her leave yet. It's still..." Pausing, he contemplated what the girl might think about him controlling what she does. "...It's still too dangerous to send her back out on her own. I'll come back." He opened the door, shoulders clearly weighted by the burden of an unspoken hurt.

"Alright. Be careful."

"I make no promises."

With that, he was gone.

* * *

**'Allo mates. Just summin' I whipped up and might come back to as a side project, 'cause I dun really expect too many folks to have interest. Which means, if y'all are decent enough to click that 'submit review' button and tell me what you think, I may be motivated to write more, y'know? In short, please do click that button. If you had the patience enough to read it, at least tell me what you think? ^-^ I promise I don't bite.**

**...Hard.**

**TOODLES~**


	2. Hypocrisy

He walked with purpose in his stride.

Each step was certain, no hesitance present in motion or expression. Those who he passed stepped neatly out of his way and offered a hasty salute, humbled by that cold and focused demeanor. He barely spared them a glance, his sharp eyes fixed on nothing more than the door at the very end of the hallway. It was as if the rubble and smoke around him wasn't there – he paid no attention to it.

Those metal doors slammed open as his palms made contact with them. The two black-clad men inside jumped at the sudden noise and spun as if they'd been caught doing something wrong. One instantly stood at attention, whilst the other fumbled akwardly with his gun before tucking it under his arm and doing the same. They stood stone still, afraid that if they moved so much as an inch they would be yelled at for disobedience or for whatever else their superior could think of.

"At ease." The words literatly brought the two soldiers to relax. The clumsier one even let out a conspicuous sigh.

"Sir." The man nodded as he walked up to the sparking remains of what was once expensive research equipment. He frowned down at it and critically examined the blood that now painted the metal. The room was covered in it. Even the ceiling had not been spared, as there were splotches and _smears_ that looked a great deal like handprints.

"What exactly happened here?" The elder's sharp green gaze flicked from wall to wall, stain to stain. He did not miss the hairline crack in the window, nor did his observations fall short of the bloody bird that lay almost ceremoniously in the center of the room beyond the window.

"We can safely say that the subject had no assistance in escaping, but suddenly became very aggressive towards his captors. It's not that aggression in him is uncommon, but he's never actually made such an effort to get free." It was slowly becoming evident to the decorated captain that this situation had the potential to be a lot worse than he'd thought it would be at first news. "And he's never taken so many lives so fast. He's normally been quite passive."

"Were you stationed in this facility?"

"Yes, sir. My partner and I were included in the external forces. We were waiting on orders to roll out."

"And how did the thing get out?" The man scuffed his shoe against a peice of rubble which looked like it had come off of the doorframe. He frowned at it and scoffed, giving the impression his attention was not completely on the response.

"It just...walked, sir."

"Walked?"

"Yes, walked. Men were sent at it to try and push it back, but it just cut through them. Even armor fell to peices."

"So why is it your brothers-in-arms died around you yet you still live to tell me this?"

"Well, uh, sir. We saw the situation was FUBAR, so myself and a few others fled."

"And let the subject escape?"

"It was that or die, sir."

"Right, so let me get this straight." The man rounded on the soldier, who stiffened and stood tall despite how he still fell short of the captain's height. "Your fellow soldiers, who at your standing should be considered _brothers_, stayed and did their best to fight for the good of their country and stop that monstrosity from escaping, while you and several other cowards of like mind took off and abandonned them to death?"

"Well...Sir...it's not like that. Uh, there was nothing more we could do, it couldn't be stopped."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how do you know that? You ran away, who's to say the support of you and your comrades couldn't have turned the tides?"

"Well-"

"Enough. No more excuses."

_Bang!_

The soldier's body clattered to the floor, a brand new hole decorating the space on the man's forehead. The bullet had torn clear through his helmet and added more blood to the mix of fluids in the room. Slowly, the captain lowered his pistol and tapped it against his leg as if in thought. After a few moments of startled silence from the remaining soldier, he dared breathe a word.

"S-sir?"

"Get out of my sight." The elder man snarled, but it was clear the boy need not be told twice. He tore out of that room as if hell were at his heels.

Once alone, the general let out a long sigh and ran a long-fingered hand through greying black hair. He was getting too old for this. These cowards wouldn't know what it meant to be a soldier if it shot them in the foot and forced them to dance. He wasn't sure for how much longer he could listen to the pathetic excuses of those who abandonned their brothers in the field. In his day, anyone running would've been shot by whoever had stayed.

He was a very traditional man in his late fifties, but with days like that day he felt as if he could be turning a century old any day. He was tall and thin with sharp features and a naturally challenging green gaze. He wore a decorated uniform from the corps, though it was clear he had authority over a lot more than just simple marines. He was never without that well-polished pistol of his, which was tucked into his belt along with a small black box. This box was in his grip within the next minute.

"Have clean up report to the subject's room. I want everything examined for virus contamination and the bodies moved out of here ASAP."

"The crew is on it's way, sir," crackled a voice from the walkie-talkie in his hand.

"And of the Titans?"

"They're here sir, awaiting your briefing."

"Tell them I'll be there in a moment." The general didn't wait for a response after he'd spoken, he clicked the device off and tucked it back into his belt. Turning on his heel, he clicked his teeth together in a thoughtful habit, hesitating before crossing the threshold back into the hallway.

This time, because his outward appearance seemed far more relaxed, most of the soldiers around him went about their duties or only offered him a curt nod as he proceeded back to the enterance. He'd seen what he had come to see, the site of escape, a ground zero in this dark situation. Now he had other business to attend to which regrettably did not offer a very satisfying change of subject. This infection would be the death of him, though he had no intetion of ever actually contracting the illness.

There was a chopper above him as he stepped outside the damaged remains of the military base, obviously serving as a watchpoint to ensure the location was not attacked in it's moment of weakness. But it became clear to the general as he stepped out onto the tarmac that the helicopter had served another purpose. Before him now stood a large, young-looking man in what looked to be a thick black armor, armed to the teeth with pistols, knives and whatever else might be in those black pouches.

Feeling old once again, the general gave the man a searching look before letting his focus shift to the four that stood at attention behind the first. They all held what looked to be simple black helmets equipped with a visor under one arm, all wearing similar armor to the large man in front of him. He grimaced at the sight of a blonde woman in the line, then grimaced even more at the sight of a black woman.

"What is this?" He growled as his green gaze returned to what he assumed to be their captain. "Are you the Titans?" His tone was challenging, disbelieving. There could be no way a _woman_ had earned any right to that kind of title, much less a black one.

"Yes, we are." The large man said in a level voice, obviously ignoring the doubt in his superior's tone. "Sergeant Scott Hawke, reporting the Titans for duty." He brought his feet together with a click and saluted, though he looked straight at his elder with an expression that did not show respect.

"This is a joke, right? You bunch?" The general snickered. "You look like a disfunctional squad of girl scouts, soldier. You mean to say _you _are to bring down Zeus?" Once again his gaze landed on the black woman, who noted his stare and tensed in hostility.

"We're the best Blackwatch can muster in place of Cross. He was the best of the best, yet the five of us are believed to have the same skill when we work together."

"Excuse me, 'believed to?' This is no place for 'belief,' boy," snarled the general as he got right up in the larger man's face. "Can you or can you not bring the thing into custody?" There was a moment of silence before the general took a startled step back as all five of the similarily-uniformed soldiers cried at the same time:

"We can!"

"Sir, don't underestimate us. We trained under and with Captain Cross. We are the best of the best brought together under one cause. Appearance or gender makes no difference in the light of our skills." Pegged for his obvious racism and sexism, the general gritted his teeth and let his dissaproving nature ease. He let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his hair again, another thoughtful habit of his.

"Alright, so what 'skills' are we talking about and who is the best of the best?" He let his gaze wonder down the line of soldiers, forcing himself to imagine each of them with their helmets. It was easier not to prejudge that way. One by one, each of the soldiers stepped forward. He already knew of Hawke, but the thin man on the far left of the line was Timothy Dane, a scientist by nature and a expert in-field medic. He also specialized in light-weight firearms and recon. His partner in that field was the blonde woman, Rebecca Waller, a professional marksman and scout. The last two consisted of Robert, his last name something foreign and impossible to pronounce, the man who seemed impossibly large, obviously some brand of super-soldier who topped in demoltions and heavy firearms. The black woman was their pilot, Alisha Bryan, who could apparently expertly maneuver nearly any civilian or military vehicle into nearly any space that allowed for it's size.

All in all, they were a rag-tag bunch of experts who had come together to compliment one another's abilities and hopefully bring down the massive thorn in Blackwatch's side, otherwise known as Zeus. The General himself had to admit, the idea seemed logical. Bring together multiple experts of differing varieties and pit them against a freak who had exceeded the single expert of all varieties. They'd always said two head were better than one, no? Well, here before him stood five.

"Sir, we need to know everything you do about the target."

"That will be done when we return to HQ"

"And we'd like to know more about Pariah."

"...Why?"

"Well, if he's loose in the city there is a chance we might run into him while tracking the primary target. We need to be ready." Hawke's words brought a long pause to the general who stood before him with narrowed eyes. The man noticed that his superior was lightly tapping his pistol with his index finger.

"Fine. I'll tell you everything you need to know, but _only_ you. You can choose what to share with your squad. I think you'll understand once I've explained everything."

* * *

Alex Mercer was truly beginning to understand just how hard of a person he was to find. In fact, he was experiencing first-hand what it was like to try and track a specific person with the virus when they blended with the crowd so well. He didn't know what he was looking for. He only had a few flashing glimpses of a boy, but that was it.

It was hardly helpful, though. There were roughly 1.5 million people in Manhattan and he had to narrow it down to one little boy who, for all he knew, could change as he could.

Which was another problem. Knowing next to nothing about his prey meant he didn't know what kind of effects the virus had on the boy. He knew that Alex Mercer had been infected with an artificial version of the virus, but this kid – Pariah – was someone who was _born_ with it. Yes, the virus changed and rebuilt genetic structure, but to what extent and how did it differ from himself? Did it differ at all? Were the changes faster, more resiliant or to a greater volume? Did he even make changes?

All the questions with no answers was seriously frustrating, and gave him the feeling of Deja vu.

Now sure, as he'd come across this feeling of 'I've been here before,' his initial reaction was to go find people who did know about the situation, as he'd done the first time. Find people who knew about the kid, consume them and tear into their secrets, gather information about who he was hunting. But of course, this idea was littered with problems. Where did he start? He didn't even know where the kid had been kept, he knew most information was 'beyond top secret' and randomly consuming people in the street would do nothing more than draw unwanted attention.

So he was stuck at the beginning, unsure how to take off.

Any information he had weren't from sources that could be considered totally reliable. They were all questions, guesses, speculations. None of those were exactly useful. He needed hard facts. He knew the thing didn't age like normal people, he knew it was probably Greene's son and he knew that the kid was born with the virus. He knew he had the potential to kill, but how was beyond his knowledge. Oh, and he knew it would apparently be 'bad' if he ever actually came face-to-face with Pariah.

But that's exactly what he was trying to do.

With nothing in mind but questions and frustrations, Mercer pushed himself to his feet and brushed himself off before letting his hands fall to his sides. He stared down at the streets below, cars looking like toys from his height and people nothing more than ants. There weren't many helicopters around, so he assumed something bigger must be pulling their attention.

Wait. That was it. That's how he could start.

With the helicopters.

He stepped off the edge of the building, dragging his hand down the side until the neighboring rooftop was closer. He pushed off the wall and hit his target, tucking into a roll.

He'd start with the helicopters. He had to find one and consume one of the pilots, there was a good chance that they'd know where their fellows were, or why there was so few out in the skies. There was just the matter of finding one that was actually on patrol. He assumed if he just wondered around for long enough he'd find one, which is why he let his feet guide him as he leapt over streets and slid along walls into alleys, only to leap from one to another as he ascended.

It didn't take long before he could hear the whirring of chopper blades tearing through the air. He paused on the rooftop, head aimed upwards as he searched above for any sign of the flying machine. The sound was getting louder, but he couldn't see the thing anywhere – at least, he couldn't until it popped up right in front of him, ascending higher and higher from somewhere below.

Reacting on instinct, he tore across the roof and flew at the copter, grabbing onto it's tail just before it could climb any higher. His body made a resounding _thump_ as it smacked against the metal and he heard cries of shock and alarm from inside the machine. He found his grip and leant towards the cockpit with a frown. Before he jumped, however, he had an interesting idea.

A blade formed in his right hand as he dragged himself further up the chopper's tail with his left. Once he was sure he'd gone far enough and the blades screamed just above his head, threatening to pull back his hood as they turned, he twisted around and sliced the tail clean off. Alarms shrieked to life from inside the vehicle as it began to spiral out of control. Alex flung himself forward, rebounding off the wing to slam into the side of the cockpit as the chopper continued to spin, losing altitude. He reached forward with his now human-looking hand to rip off the side window, before reaching in and grabbing a screaming pilot by the throat.

Gripping tightly to his catch, he leapt away from the falling transport and caught himself on a building wall, dashing back up it as the helicopter hit the ground and went up in flames, the remaining pilot likely going down with it.

Alex hit the roof, the man in his grip still screaming and insisting that killing him would do nothing. The hooded man sneered before pulling his fist back and ramming it through his captive's chest, pulling out something solid and gripping it tightly as dark tendrils pulled the man into nothing. For a moment, nothing happened and Alex remained standing expectant on the roof, trying to ignore a feeling of panic as no memories came to light.

Then at last, the pain arrived.

"_Alright Palmer, here's the scoop." A burly-looking pilot paced in front of my gaze. I rolled my eyes and let out a sigh. My partner was already back warming up our bird. "You and Paisely are gonna be patrolling the east coast until your chopper has no gas to stay up."_

"_Why the long shift?" I asked, though the thought of talking to the loud-mouth man was annoying enough._

"_Most of our choppers are being recalled for medical transport to a base in the north. Apparently, something big happened up there and they need all air-hands that can be spared on deck" I let out a snort of disbeleif, while silently cursing our luck to be the ones stuck on unusually long shifts. I was already beginning to pray something interesting would happen._

"_So we're the one's that can't be 'spared?'"_

"_You and a couple others. You won't be the only bird up there, but certainly one of a few."_

"_Sir, if you don't mind me asking, what could be so important that they had to call more than half of our available pilots up to one measely base?"_

"_That, private, is on a need-to-know basis. You can just satisfy that girly curiosity of yours with the fact that they're busy doing something you're not. Now saddle up and get the fuck outta here. You've got a city to patrol."_

"A base in the north?" Alex let out a grunt, turning his head in that direction. "It's not much, but it's the only place I've got and seems like a good place to start." He ran towards the edge of the roof, leaping over the city and the burnt remains to the helicopter below. Well, Palmer had certainly got his wish. Something interesting happened.

"I've spotted ZEUS!" Alarmed at the codename, Mercer skidded to a halt, looking across the rooftops to where an overgrown soldier stood, talking into his shoulder as he pointed in the smaller man's direction. A supersoldier. Wonderful.

Without a second thought, Alex tore off the side of the roof and slid into the street, pushing his way past people as he ran up the sidewalk and skidded around a corner. He heard a thump behind him and he knew the big-guy was following him. Cursing, he picked up speed. People yelled in protest as he elbowed them aside, knocking them off their feet. They just didn't seem to understand that if someone came dashing their way at an insane speed, they should move.

So, Mercer leapt out into the street, one car swerving to avoid him as he leapt off the one beside it. With a speck of courtesy and probably more concerned with meeting less resistance, Alex chose to run with the traffic, weaving in between the masses of slow-moving cars as the clumsy thumping of supersoldier feet still crashed several seconds behind him.

He chanced a gaze over his shoulder, finding that he was a good several yards ahead, turning back only when he heard shouts and gunfire ahead of him. A patrol of men barricaded the way, traffic pulled off the side to give them a clear shot. Mercer gritted his teeth and folded one arm in front of him, a large shield manifesting in it's place as the men focused their fire on him. He plowed right through the small patrol, unable to hold back a snicker as he did. They couldn't break his sheild, not with their tiny-looking gu-

He went soaring back in mid-thought, the supersoldier looking up in wonder as his target sailed right over his head going the opposite direction he had been a second ago. He hit the ground with a thud and skidded back, coming to an abrupt halt when his shoulders met the front bumper of a car. The dents he'd left would probably not be cheap to repair.

"Figures." Alex growled under his breath, clenching and unclenching his fists as a reddish energy sparked around him – the remnants of his shield. Two tanks rolled around the corner, the barrel of one's cannon smoking from the shot that had been fired. The infantry that remained retreated to stand behind the tanks as both cannons turned to lock on their infected target. The supersoldier took control of the situation, pointing forward and giving a loud order.

"Fire!"

"Oh sh-" Flames engulfed the man as the shells exploded around him, momentarily obscuring him from their vision. As the smoke cleared, the supersoldier grimaced behind his helmet. ZEUS was nowhere to be seen.

"He's still around here, stay alert!"

"Calling for a Strike on position A34 dash 1, area is hot, repeat, area is hot. No friendlies in the kill zone, fire when ready!" From atop a roof, a vaguely familiar-looking helicopter pilot pointed down at them, one hand on the side of his helmet.

"No, wait!" The large soldier tried to leap towards the obvious imposter, growling in rage until his body was forced into the ground and burned into nothing by a falling artillery shell. The tanks tried to pull back and retreat, but they too were caught in the raining fire as the men around them exploded into nothing. Using the distraction to his advantage, the helicopter pilot turned away and dashed down the series of buildings, leaving the scene of death and fire behind him as his form slowly changed back into the hooded figure that was revered by the military.

Somewhat content with his work, Mercer stayed away from the main streets and kept a ready eye open for any other patrolling supersoldiers that might be nearby. Despite this minor setback, he had managed to travel further north than he had been minutes earlier. Though he had no idea which of the bases it was that had ordered a recall, he was sure it wouldn't take long to find it. He'd have to be sure to lay-low, because he already knew security would be high. He was making an estimate that they'd be looking for him (or someone like him, considering Pariah.)

So the task was simple. He'd just have to sabotage the scanners, somehow avoid the supersoldiers and find someone who would know more about the situation than a measly helicopter pilot.

* * *

**KAYSO. I've now _officially_ got the introductions and setup aside. I think I might actually be able to start on plot now -much celebration is heard in the background- and now I can elaborate a little more on my wonderful little thing of death and murder that I've yet to actually give a location. He'll be wonderful to write, I just know it P:**

**Thanks to all of you who reviewed, and I encourage you to continue to do so. Even if you don't like it, I'd still like to hear your thoughts. I'm sure plenty of you are able to relate. It's easier to write when you know there's someone who wants to read what you've written, no?**

**Either way, I'll try to update soon as to keep those of you who do like what you see from dying of the wait. Writer's Digest has provided a brilliant peice of advice for me. Something along the lines of "Writer's Block is just an excuse. You don't heart open-heart surgeons going: 'Oh, I have surgeon's block, so I'm just gonna stay home and play some sudoku'. Suck it up and get it done. Do your job as a writer."**

**WITH THESE WORDS OF WISDOM IN MIND, I PUSH FORWARD INTO THE LAND OF DEADLINES! WHOOOOOO! (Don't forget to push that review button down there, yo.)**

**Toodles~**

**P.S. I have a habit of posting what I write immediately, without proofreading first and then I go back and read my chapters on the site and go 'Oh shizz, how'd I miss that?' So if you find any mistakes, do feel free to point them out. They won't be ignored.**


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